


Within the solitudes, profound

by meinposhbastard



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Light Angst, Lotor's fangs, M/M, No Spoilers, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M, this should be a thing, tiny Pokemon reference (if you find it)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/pseuds/meinposhbastard
Summary: Lotor’s royalty; he's cunning and difficult to one-up on; he's a commanding authority wherever he goes.He's also frustrated. Having his Generals sent to the far corners of the Universe to prevent rebellions or help planets regain their freedom, leaves him alone on a huge ship full of cold sentinels.That, and his two warm-blooded Earthlings. Paladins that make the combined force of his Generals break a sweat.





	Within the solitudes, profound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lysanatt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/gifts).



> Based on the prompt Lysa threw at me: Nope!Nope!Nope!
> 
> Hello new fandom (and new pairings).  
> This is an experiment in relationship dynamic. I ship them like no one's business, but I'm still trying to figure out how their dynamic works, beside the general idea that they balance each other out.  
> So this is a version that I found I'm happy with. For now.
> 
> The title is taken from Baudelaire's poem found down here. Despite its somber and sad notes, the ficlet is anything but.
> 
> I use the [Altean measurements of time](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/156227389863/altean-measurements-of-time/), so if you get confused, come back to this.

* * *

 

_This heavy burden to uplift,_  
_O Sysiphus, thy pluck is required!_  
_And even though the heart aspired,_  
_Art is long and Time is swift._  
_Afar from sepulchres renowned,_  
_To a graveyard, quite apart,_  
_Like a broken drum, my heart,_  
_Beats the funeral marches’ sound._  
_Many a buried jewel sleeps_  
_In the long-forgotten deeps,_  
_Far from mattock and from sound;_  
_Many a flower wafts aloft_  
_Its perfumes, like a secret soft,_  
_Within the solitudes, profound._

_— Charles Baudelaire, Ill Luck_

* * *

 

“Lower your elbow, otherwise you’ll leave your left flank exposed.”

Keith does so at the same time as he tries to surprise-attack Shiro; he blocks Keith’s sword easily with his metal arm.

“Good, now try that without giving away your hand.”

Sparks sizzle from the force with which Keith pulls back his Marmoran blade; Shiro aims a punch at Keith’s shoulder with his flesh arm, but Keith dances around it on nimble feet. In the same breath, he uses the wall to propel himself into a somersault over his partner, landing on bent knees to cushion his joints, movements fluid as his right foot glides forward to balance out his extended arm and upper body.

The tip of his sword doesn’t touch Shiro’s nape, but the fine hairs stir with the force of the non-blow.

Lotor smirks, impressed, from the open doorway. That is definitely something he would do.

“Prince Lotor.”

Shiro’s right hand goes to the opposite shoulder in the Galran salute, Keith following suit a heartbeat later.

Lotor’s smirk disappears, same as his good mood.

He turns and leaves without acknowledging any of their inquisitive stares.

 

***

Keith’s focused expression has featured in his dreams for a long time. He’s never easily distracted and his skills are better observed in unpredictable situations, when he needs to make a decision on two feet.

“Something’s bothering you.”

Fact.

The nasty smile comes without effort on his lips, and he doesn’t bother to offer a verbal response to Keith’s questioning gaze.

He pirouettes around Keith’s blow, his sword swooshing at Keith’s chest level, before retracting to block his retaliation. The sparks don’t fly dull yellow, but poison purple with a hint of white. Left flank is wide open as Keith still hasn’t mastered the blade one-hand, and Lotor’s half-Galran body gives him an advantage as far as strength goes.

He uses the flat side of the sword to smack Keith’s ribs, which elicits a surprised gasp as he steps away from his sword’s range.

“Left side exposed,” he says. “I thought you learned from your last training session.”

 

***

The thing with Lotor — Keith discovers later, much later, when he passes by the command room to overhear him talking to Acxa over the comp-pad — is that he misses his Generals, the family he created for himself.

Keith relates to that all too easily. Looking back at how many ups and downs he and Shiro have been through, he finds that loneliness has become a strange concept to him when it used to be his most intimate friend. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case with their Prince, covered as he is by protective layers of arrogance, wittiness, sarcasm and too much thinking dubbed as silence.

This knowledge sits uncomfortably on Keith’s mind. Not too long ago he found himself in a similar position, and he’d still be there if Shiro didn’t work so hard to change his mindset.

Maybe it’s not a waste of their time to try and show Lotor something different, despite him being in a constant standoffish mode around them both.

 

***

“Prince Lotor, a word, if I may?”

“Go ahead.” He’s too distracted by the analytics running on his comp-screen to bristle at the title.

“We request your permission to visit planet Nalra in the nearby solar system.”

Alarm flashes in his eyes before being quickly whisked away by an assessing gaze.

“What business do you have there?”

Shiro averts his eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

“Then you don’t have my permission to leave the base.”

“Sir—“

“I told you not to address me like that,” he snaps.

Shiro is taken aback by the sudden eruption. He visibly struggles to recompose himself. A tick — two pass in complete silence. Lotor stubbornly keeps his gaze on his comp-screen.

“Lotor,” — and that’s worse than being addressed formally — “we won’t be gone for long.”

“Without a valid reason, you’re not leaving the ship.”

That leaves Shiro without a comeback. He stares at Lotor’s profile for what feels like decapheebs, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of ticks, a dobash at most.

If Lotor wasn’t keeping his attention solely on the silhouette in his peripheral vision, he would’ve missed the moment Shiro leaves.

The quiet doesn’t let him concentrate on anything.

 

***

He opens the door a few ticks after the metallic knocks.

“Commander Lotor wishes to communicate to you that you have permission to depart.”

Keith smirks.

 

***

The strange plant he finds in his private quarters has a purple stalk that bleeds into the spiral of orange, yellow and white petals, twisting in spirals at the tips. It starts undulating lazily the moment he steps inside and his sword is halfway out from its sheathe before he sees the white rectangle at the base of said plant.

— _We hope you don’t throw it away_

A huff escapes his lips, smile painful on his cheeks.

How unromantic.

 

***

“If you want to woo me, you need to do better than a Nalran plant that releases calming spores in stressful environments and Peskian sour cream for my picky eating habits.”

He manages to modulate his tone of voice to a monotone drawl, as if those two things didn’t push his heart into overdrive.

Keith is the only one to respond, which tells Lotor whose brains was behind this little plan.

“We’re planning on it.”

He can’t help but answer the challenge in Keith’s eyes with one of his own.

Shiro sighs.

 

***

The thing about Keith and Lotor, Shiro notes a couple of quintents later, as he watches them fight in the training room, is that they have too many similarities which they stubbornly refuse to acknowledge.

“Left flank, Keith,” Shiro says under his breath.

Lotor smirks, dodging another thrust of Keith’s sword and going for his exposed side. Swiftly, Keith switches the sword to his left hand, pointing downwards, and blocks Lotor’s sword with the flat of his own, free hand adding pressure to the blade.

Shiro nods in approval, pride fueling his smile. Keith knows Lotor could use his strength to push his blade aside; the addition of his hand as a security is well thought out.

Keith grins at Lotor’s flash of surprise, but doesn’t savor the tick because Lotor rounds on the other side in a fluid, mid-air arc and Keith has to block the blow overhead. A flurry of attacks follows, sparks and sturdy clinks fill the training room. And in the blink of an eye, they both disarm each other and then it’s a matter of arms and legs, both agile in their footwork and turns.

It’s like watching water moving around to accommodate each and every crevice or nook. They’re both similar in this respect, but also different; Keith still retains a certain desperation to his attacks, too much volcanic arrogance and impatience, as if he knows victory is one step away for the taking and cannot help himself but skip that step.

Lotor, on the other hand, is more calculated and resilient. He doesn’t as much attack as he observes his opponent, studying his moves and formulating or reformulating his strategy.

But he might as well do that forever because Keith avoids decisive blows at the last moment, his fast-thinking like breathing, which adds an edge of frustration to Lotor’s next attacks.

Until—

Until Keith turns in a semi-circle at ground level and his extended foot catches Lotor’s calf, pulling. He doesn’t fall (to Shiro’s enraptured attention, hands gripping the edges of the safety glass, body bent over it), but twists in a back-flip, which sends his heart into overdrive because Lotor _is_ beauty and grace in the purest, deadliest form.

Before he rights himself, however, he bodily launches his weight at Keith, inelegant and everything that Lotor isn’t (or is, but they don’t know it, yet).

Keith topples, a surprised _oomph_ as his body hits the ground a couple of pounds heavier before he buckles, dislodging Lotor and flipping their position. But Lotor’s lean legs lock at the ankles on Keith’s back and he twists himself until it’s a flurry of colors and bodies topping one another, never for more than a few ticks at a time.

The grunts and gasps are from exertion, Shiro intellectually knows.

That doesn’t mean his hardness couldn’t drill Marmoran metal right now.

He exits the room before he does something foolish.

 

***

After that, things sour between Keith and Lotor.

From what Keith told Shiro, neither won, so the draw sits like a dead weight on both of their shoulders.

“Maybe try and talk things out,” Shiro suggests, breathless, his flesh hand coming on Keith’s shoulder.

“He won’t listen,” Keith grunts out, trying to accommodate Shiro’s girth inside him.

“You haven’t even tried.”

 

***

“You know,” Keith grits out from between Lotor’s thighs, arm stretched high above his head in a painful hold. “On Earth we have such a thing as clearing out misunderstandings using words.”

“Yeah?” Lotor grins.

Keith inherently knows how Lotor’s voice sounds like when he grins; he’s heard it countless times across the room or in his cask.

“I’m sorry to disappoint your terrestrial customs. This is how we do things shipside.”

The sound of his quarters’ door opening makes him look upside down at Shiro.

“You told me you were going to talk.”

There’s no accusing tone in Shiro’s voice as he comes to stand beside the huge bed on which Keith is currently engaged in an aggressive chock-hold by the hands of their Prince and Commander.

“I tried,” Keith says, words finding their way with difficulty through his pressurized windpipe. “He didn’t listen.”

Lotor squeezes for a few ticks more before he completely releases Keith, retreating to the other side of the bed and using it as a shield when he stands. It’s hard for Shiro to read the myriad of expressions crossing his face when he meets Keith’s retreat halfway, touching him in a comforting familiarity.

Lotor blows away the one lock of white hair that stubbornly refuses to be styled with the rest of it.

“Prince Lotor—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not Galra.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Keith explodes, despite Shiro’s hand on his shoulder and the subsequent squeeze to _stand down_. “No, this is getting tiring! What the fuck is your problem, hm? Are we too low for your royal princedom? Is that it?”

“Keith.”

“No, Shiro.” He dislodges Shiro’s hand, standing up on his knees; he’s still a couple of inches shorter than Shiro. “This has gotten too far. I’m done with your standoffish, cold behavior. Are you or are you not interested in us? If you’re not, at least spare us the pointless game of catch.”

Lotor visibly bristles at Keith’s downpour of angry words. He straightens, chin jutting up challengingly, trying to look imperious and mostly succeeding, if Shiro hadn’t been watching him for the past months. There’s a layer of vulnerability just beneath the hardened mask that Shiro would like nothing more but to pull out of their Prince.

“If you’re done lamenting your poor position of a suitor, I will grant a response to Shiro’s question.”

Keith gears for another verbal barrage, but Shiro’s hand squeezes his shoulder once again and he relents begrudgingly.

“When I said that you aren’t Galra, I did not intend it to come across as an insult. Quite the opposite.”

That catches them off-guard.

“What do you mean exactly?” Keith’s suspicion is stark in his voice.

Lotor purses his lips as if he already regrets that he said so much. He looks torn between continuing and sending them away; his eyes dart to the door, anyway.

“My… contempt of the Galra is no secret. At least not anymore. So I will maintain as much distance between me and them as possible, imposing whatever means necessary, even honorifics.

“So you don’t hate us,” Keith says slowly, tasting the words.

“No.”

A tick.

“Then will you accept us as your lovers?” Shiro asks tentatively.

Lotor scoffs. “No.”

“Why the hell not?”

He huffs and turns towards the fake window displaying a nebula in the Bintrock constellation.

“I’m not required to offer you any explanation for my refusal.”

“We’d still like to know,” Shiro says placating.

Lotor doesn’t turn. “I’m not interested in you.”

“Say that to our faces,” Keith challenges.

A muscle jumps in his jaw and he begrudgingly turns to look at them both. They’ve come closer to him, he notes, already halfway along the bed. He narrows his eyes at their feet, though they don’t seem to want to go further than that.

He looks up with more difficulty than he thought it required.

“I have no desire to pursue any kind of relationship with you two.”

Keith narrows his eyes even as Shiro tries to school the hurt from his features a tick too slow for Lotor’s trained eyes.

“Why are you lying to us?” Keith inquires.

He bristles. “I am not.” It sounds angrier than he wanted it to.

“If you really weren’t interested in us you wouldn’t have let us pursue you this far.”

“Inconsequential.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t.”

The glint in his eyes is like a warning that Lotor takes at face value. He’s underestimated his opponents far too many times in the past to ignore this. Keith is far more cunning that his explosive demeanor lets out.

Now it’s a matter of stopping Keith’s interest from developing even further.

“I never had and never will have any interest in pursuing any kind of relationship.”

He would have liked to ignore the sharp, dangerous smile on Keith’s face.

“So we’ll be the first ones.”

“That is precisely the point I am trying to discourage,” Lotor says, grappling for arguments to bring in their disfavor, mind going in overdrive. “Aren’t Earthlings all for consent when a relationship is involved?”

Shiro inclines his head. “Baring the myriad of instances when we conveniently forget or ignore that, yes, you are right on that account.”

“ _We_ are, though,” Keith supplies. “Big on consent.”

Perfect escape path. He blows his lock of hair, hand propping on his shoulder.

“Then I do not consent to this.”

He wins.

The razor-sharp smile returns, though. “As long as we don’t sexually, verbally or psychologically abuse you and we keep our intentions towards you clear and on the civil side, we can and will pursue you until you either really refuse us or give in to us.”

Shock suffuses his features. “I refused you already.”

“No,” Shiro says, something in his assessing, calm gaze tickling a couple of warning bells in Lotor’s mind. “You refused to lose. You still consider this a game. We’re here to tell you that it’s not a game anymore and that we are serious in our intentions to have a relationship with you.”

He’s not even capable of schooling his bafflement into one of his multiple masks.

“Why?”

It’s weak and vulnerable and everything he trained himself not to be.

A genuine smile warms Shiro’s face and it takes off a couple of years from his hardened features. He looks young and vulnerable just like he feels.

“Because you value familial relations borne from circumstances above everything else.”

And contrary to what Lotor expected from his months-long study of the duo, it isn’t Shiro that comes forth with that kind of information. When he snaps his eyes to Keith, it’s only understanding and a stark resolution that meets him.

“We won’t lie, we are physically attracted to you,” Keith continues, expression thawing. “But we’re not looking for a one-night stand.”

His resolve crumbles right where he stands and it’s a live-or-die kind of situation for his brain. This is a battle that he inherently knows he won’t be able to win, not with so little information and so much emotional input.

“What makes you believe that I am a relationship kind of person, then?”

“You consider your Generals family, even though you don’t keep them too close.” Shiro lifts a hand when Lotor gears to protest that fact. “That means that you are willing to form relations with others. You might prefer to be alone, but you crave that kind of intimacy. We want to offer you that and much more, and show you that you can trust us with your darkest secrets and not be afraid that they’ll be used against you.”

Even as Shiro talks, his head shakes in denial. Trust them with his most intimate secrets that not even the silence around him knows? They are fools if they think he’ll allow himself to be _that_ vulnerable with them!

“That will never happen.”

He meets each paladin’s eyes, maintaining it for enough time to convey how serious and resolute he is.

“You underestimate our determination and patience,” Keith says.

He lifts an eyebrow. “One of which you do not have in abundance.”

Keith smirks. “With the right incentive I can learn to be _very_ patient for a _long time_.”

And if that didn’t sound like a threat, then Lotor’s ears might be malfunctioning.

Last resort.

“You will not pursue this foolish endeavor further. I forbid you to.”

“We’re not Galra, remember?” Keith throws over his shoulder, cheekiness peeking in the last word.

The door whooshes closed behind them and Lotor’s knuckles are a discolored purple where he clenches them behind his back.

“I’m still your Commander,” he whispers harshly in the silence of his quarters.

 

***

“Abort mission. Now!”

The command panel under his fists gives way to the force he exerts on it.

“Keith is there! I won’t leave him behind!”

Grim determination and fury mars his features in the hologram.

“Shiro, Acxa and Ezor are en route to you—”

Shiro’s face pinches with the effort to evade laser beams.

“There’s no time! I’m going in after Keith.”

“It’s a matter of a couple of dobashes! Stay put! It’s an order!”

And it’s now that Shiro looks directly into his feed, directly at Lotor.

“I won’t lose Keith!”

And he disconnects.

Lotor wants to punch that stupid face through the two galaxies separating them. How can such a calculating, intelligent person lose all his reason over another? Why can’t he listen to him when the situation is dire?

Why can’t Shiro let him save them both?

A couple of clicks later and Acxa’s face comes on his feed.

“How much?”

“Less than a dobash.”

Ezor appears next to her. “We see them!” She sing-songs and then dives into the fry, her lasers hitting every target she sets her eyes on.

“Don’t worry, we’ll save them,” Acxa says, the words he needs to hear right now.

He pulls up the feed over the fight from both of his Generals’ on-ship cameras, looking for the Black and Red Lion, but the ships move too fast for Lotor to make out anything more than colorful explosions. The frustration gnaws at him, itching to go there, but his ship is out of commission for another quintent and the standard ships are not fast enough and unable to jump into space without the mother-ship.

The hole in the command panel he punches doesn’t make him feel better.

“I see Black,” Acxa interrupts his rage.

“Where’s Keith?” At this point, he doesn’t care how frantic he sounds.

He needs to make sure they’re both okay. And he trusts his Generals to see to that.

“Keith’s not responding.” Shiro appears on his feed. “And Red pulled up the barrier. I don’t know if he’s inside or if — wait, Black’s readings tell me that he’s inside Red, and alive.”

Lotor sits down heavily, taking in measured, deep breaths. For someone who proclaims that he doesn’t care about his Paladins, he sure as hell went into overdrive there. The relief at the news leaves him weak and trembling from the adrenaline crash.

“Bring him home,” he tells Shiro, schooling his voice into something firm and neutral.

Shiro gives him an odd expression — something that looks a lot like surprise, but worry is still strong enough to make it a strange mix — before nodding and signing off. He returns to his Generals who assure him of their cover for the retrieval.

“Lotor,” Ezor says, far too chipper for the situation they’re in. “Stop worrying about Keith!”

“He’s made from tougher material than what we think,” Acxa offers before closing their communications.

He doesn’t rush down to the hangar only because he’s already there and waiting for what feels like a couple of vargas before Black sails inside with Red in tow.

Shiro collapses in his arms the moment he’s less than an arm’s length away from him and he allows this just because he feels the same and because Shiro’s the only one around and willing to do this.

“I thought I lost him,” Shiro begins, barely above a whisper and Lotor’s insides go on lock down. “I had him right there beside me and I tried to cover him, but Red is faster than Black and I lost him in the crossfire. Something jammed with our communication and that laser-beam took Black out of commission for a couple of ticks, enough to leave him completely exposed and overwhelmed.”

He doesn’t dare offer any kind of comfort, mostly because he never had to and because he has no idea what kind of comfort Shiro wants from him. Instead, his eyes focus on Red, sitting on her hunches, particle barrier still active.

“He needs medical attention.”

“Right, of course,” Shiro says, and puts cold distance between them. “Sorry.”

He’s already moving towards Red and later, Lotor will thank himself for not being faster and catching Shiro’s hand although his is halfway there, until he catches sight of it and quickly pulls it back.

“Hey, Red,” Shiro says, touching the barrier. “It’s okay. We’re safe here. Let up the shield so that we can take care of Keith.”

Nothing happens. Lotor comes to stand several steps behind Shiro, waiting for the beast to pay heed to Shiro.

“Red, please. Keith needs to be tended to.”

Still nothing.

Shiro punches the wall in frustration.

“Maybe she’ll open up to you,” he suggests, turning to look at Lotor.

That raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I have nothing in common with your Lions.”

Shiro shrugs, fatigue making the movement slow and sluggish. He needs to rest. His eye twitches at that prospect and the image it comes accompanied by.

“Still, you should try.”

Lotor looks at the Lion, measures her up and then comes closer. His hands are still crossed on his chest and he needs several ticks until he deigns to touch the barrier.

Nothing happens.

“Maybe try to talk to her?”

Lotor shots Shiro a dirty look and Shiro puts up his hands in defense.

Sighing, he says, “Keith needs medical attention. Release him into our care.”

The barrier stays resolutely up. He looks back at Shiro who frowns at the Lion.

“Red, this is not the time to be stubborn,” he says, hand automatically touching the hexagonal wall. “We need to—“

The shield disappears just like that and Red crouches down, opening her mouth. With a shared look between them, Shiro darts inside and emerges with Keith in his arms not long after. Lotor calls up a medical pod and Shiro gingerly places him inside, worry and love mixing on his features.

They find out that Keith is mostly okay except for the head injury and a deep wound on his left shoulder blade, most probably from where he hit himself when he was forced outside of Red.

He’s taken in their shared quarters and Lotor hovers near the bed while Shiro makes sure that he’s as comfortable as an unconscious person can be. Lotor never felt this useless in his entire life, but then again he never had to care for another person. His Generals were all grown-up females who could take care of themselves in the direst of situations, which was one of the main reasons why he hand-picked them for his team.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Shiro offers and there’s no condescension or amusement in his voice, just deep tiredness and naked honesty.

That’s his cue to leave.

“Lotor,” Shiro says, and he stops in the doorway, artificial light casting long shadows on the dark grey floor behind him. Shiro doesn’t continue until he meets his gaze over his shoulder. “Nobody will demean you for allowing yourself this.”

He stares at Shiro for a few ticks more, reading the longing and vulnerability on his face. It’s exactly what he’s trying to escape the most.

He leaves without a backwards glance.

 

 

***

He visits Keith during the next quintents. It’s mostly when Shiro is out or in the shower. He never says a word or comes closer than a couple of steps alongside the bed, but it’s enough for him.

 

***

It’s in one of those visits that the door opens and he finds Keith awake and standing in only a pair of black leggings; he caught him in the middle of pulling on a shirt. His eyes immediately meet Lotor’s from above the shirt-clad arms and Lotor’s already turning around to leave.

He berates himself for the once-over he couldn’t control and the subsequent pull of something deep in his guts.

“Lotor.”

He stops.

“Come inside,” Keith says, voice raspy from disuse.

He doesn’t turn.

“I still have business to tend to.”

“We both know that that’s a lie.”

He waits for Keith to continue, but when he doesn’t he sighs and steps inside. The shirt hangs from his hands where they lie along his front.

“Where is Shiro?”

“Down to get us lunch.”

His gaze never leaves Lotor’s, assessing and so unlike the Keith Lotor studied and cataloged. They stare at each other for a long time and Lotor’s impatience creeps up his spine.

“What is it? If you don’t have anything else to say, I’ll leave.”

And he does just that before Keith says something in edgewise, but when the door opens his fast reflexes spare him a change of clothes as Shiro’s tray, piled with food, greets him.

“Prince Lotor.” He doesn’t sound as surprised as he should be.

His eyebrows pull down into a frown, which is mostly directed at the food on the tray, absently counting down three bowls of their most Earth-friendly meals. Not that the food offended him in any way, but he’s been avoiding Shiro since their little physical exchange of warmth.

“Good timing, Shiro,” Keith says, and it’s a lot closer than before. “He almost escaped a second time.”

“What is the meaning of this?”

His royal blood and his harsh training come to play and his tone of voice bears both haughtiness and command.

Keith’s hand shots out near him and he doesn’t flinch — barely. He takes Shiro’s tray from his hands and Lotor thinks that that’s his chance to escape, but Shiro doesn’t move from the doorway, calm gaze reading his every intention on his face. He’s sure of that.

“Join us,” Shiro says, and he can’t not look up to read his expression.

He might as well have clamped down on that impulse because there’s nothing short of kindness and so much longing. Stars above and beyond! This Earthling needs to learn how to school his features. He shouldn’t be allowed to look so open and vulnerable.

Shiro’s eyes shift to something behind him and it’s the only warning he receives before arms come around his midriff and a wall of pleasant warmth plasters itself on his back.

He almost jumps out of his skin at the sudden contact, but what he actually does is dart out from the circle without much effort, which allows Shiro to step inside and let the door close behind him. Keith frowns at him, as if he personally offended the paladin by refusing that kind of physical contact.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting even.”

And he might read Keith’s expression wrong, but he looks like he’s — pouting. Apparently, Earthlings have that kind of facial feature.

He frowns. “Explain.”

Keith crosses his arms. “You allowed Shiro to hug you, so I want one, too.”

That surprises Lotor and he looks at Shiro, but the man avoids his gaze with something akin to embarrassment marring his face.

“I did not allow him. He just — fell into…” He schools himself; this is not like him. “It has no importance. I demand that you let me out.”

Keith is still pouting, looking back at Lotor like a petulant child, seemingly not paying any attention to Lotor’s demand.

“You are free to go whenever you want, but please join us for lunch.”

How come Shiro’s reasonable and calm now, but when it mattered the most he threw that out of the Lion’s ear?

“It’s not everyday that I get injured,” Keith mutters, going towards the table where the food awaits them. “At least honor us with your royal presence to celebrate my recovery.”

Something in that last sentence ticks a sensitive nerve inside Lotor and he begrudgingly joins them at the small table.

No. It’s _tiny_. He bumps knees with Keith and Shiro, and Keith throws him a smirk, bumping back and before Lotor can retaliate with a verbal retort Shiro cuts the little altercation short.

“I apologize for being so forward back then.”

Lotor frowns, taking a bit of time to remember what he’s referring to. When he does, he covers his oncoming nerves by starting to eat what’s in his bowl.

“I wasn’t thinking quite clearly. So I am sorry if I caused you discomfort, but you didn’t push me away, so I selfishly took that as permission to continue.”

“And that, right there,” Keith says, pointing his fork at Shiro. “Is why we continue to pester you.”

He knows Keith is looking at him, even as he stubbornly keeps his gaze on his food. They’re expecting an answer from him, but they don’t understand that he was wrung dry with worry and adrenaline. They can’t keep him responsible for being unable to control his own body as it overrode his higher senses and sought physical comfort.

But to say all that out loud would mean that he’ll put himself into a vulnerable position and that is exactly what he wants to avoid.

“You don’t need to feel as if opening up to us will demean you or put you in a lower position because that is not what we want or why we want you as our lover.”

Keith huffs, his impatience peeking. “I just want this tag game to be over with so that I can aggressively cuddle you.”

It’s a challenge. He hears it crystal clear in Keith’s voice, but he can’t for the life of him look up at him. His brain wrecks itself trying to parse their words and find the hidden meaning behind them, screeching in distress when it comes up clean.

If they want to play dirty, then he’ll play along.

“Some of these quintents you’ll need to tell me the reason why you chose to jump right into the melee for Keith instead of waiting for my Generals to reach you and provide cover.”

Keith’s fork falls onto his plate and he turns a shocked look towards Shiro.

Lotor covers his smirk behind the cup of wine.

“You did what? How come this is the first time I hear about this?”

“That was… I mean, you weren’t answering and…”

Lotor enjoys Shiro’s fumbling around for an explanation way too much. This is entertainment of the highest quality and he has first-row seats. Actually, he is the enabler of such prime entertainment; too bad that there’s no audience to praise his genius-level strategy.

“I bet you’d have gone right after him, if you were there.”

Keith’s words startles Lotor enough to meet his gaze where dark desires and possessiveness twist and turn.

Why are the odds in his disfavor again? This should’ve been a simple victory. People in general give too much space to their feelings and that right there was a dirty play on something Shiro obviously kept from Keith (as Lotor knew he would). And still, their attention returns to him, presenting once again a united front in their desire to make him theirs.

“There’s no way to know that for sure,” he says breezily.

The smirk fills with teeth. “You were waiting for us in the hangar. Do you think that Red would’ve required your help to pull down that shield? She obviously knows that there’s something inside that chaos of yours that corresponds to our feelings for you, otherwise she wouldn’t have ignored Shiro.”

He stands up abruptly. “I won’t let a mechanical lion tell me what to do.”

“No lion ever tells anyone, least of all their own rider, what to do,” Shiro says. “It’s a relationship based on mutual trust and respect. They suggest and help when necessary, they never force.”

“Like you’re trying to do.” He regrets the choice of his words the moment they’re out of his mouth.

“This is getting us nowhere!”

“Keith.”

Keith freezes where he’s standing, fists clenched at his sides, before he does something rash. He visibly deflates even as Lotor’s muscles stay tense and ready to deflect anything coming his way.

“I’m fine,” Keith says, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. “I’m calm.”

He exhales and sits down, arms relaxed around his bowl. Lotor stares at him for a good dobash, unable to parse what just happened, even though tightness claws up his chest.

Shiro looks at him. “We’re determined to change ourselves if that means that you’ll be more agreeable to us.”

He runs.

There’s no better way to explain or describe his next action. The meaning behind those words and Keith’s behavior is too big and dangerous for him to even approach.

His head is a big case of _nope_ _nopenope_.

So he runs back to his own quarters, breath coming out in short, rapid pants that aren’t entirely due to the physical exertion. His mind is a hubbub of disconnected thoughts and memories, half-formed or just flashes. He can’t grasp any, nor can he ignore them; the rush of blood in his ears creates dissonances around him that aren’t there usually.

His knees find the hard floor just as his arms envelop around his stomach to keep it there and the pants do not subside.

“Lotor.”

_Why are they here? When did they come? Fuck off!_

The thoughts overlap each other to get out of his mouth.

“Get away from me!” Is what he ushers, words strangled and desperate.

He’s never had control over himself, over the situation with these two. He was never going to win against them.

“We will after we make sure you’re okay.”

Keith, of all people, should not be allowed to sound so worried. Shiro might be right there with his fretting, but at least Lotor expects that of him. Not Keith with his challenging eyes and daring mouth always poised to fire a comeback to everything Lotor says. Not him.

He catches Keith’s wrist when his arm reaches for him at the same time as Shiro’s hand touches his shoulder, keeping a bit of distance between them as to not overwhelm him, but seemingly unable to not have a point of physical contact between them.

“What did you do to me?” he spits out, looking at Keith, but addressing them both.

There’s no smirk, no confidence, no condescension, no challenge in Keith’s eyes. The honesty of his worried expression, a gaping wound on his face, bleeding profusely, is so vulnerable that Lotor wants to laugh because this, right here, is everything Keith is not — doesn’t allow himself to be.

“Lotor, you’re having a panic attack,” Shiro says, his words soothing his nerves, the rumble comforting.

An ugly laugh wheezes out of him. “Why thank you. I was not aware of that.”

Wordlessly, Keith kneels before him, hands white-knuckled on his knees where they almost touch his.

“Lotor.” There’s command in his voice and then there’s an edge of steel; he finds himself looking at him. “Breathe with me.”

Lotor is too fried around the edges to protest the order so his eyes fix on Keith’s mouth — when it closes on the inhale and opens on the exhale. It takes him a couple of good dobashes until he feels calm and in control again, but he’s so tired that when his head falls on Keith’s clad shoulder, he’s only met with a warm embrace and lips in his hair.

Shiro comes closer still behind him, his flesh hand caressing his back.

He’ll have time to berate himself for this display of vulnerability and weakness later. Right now, he allows his selfishness to soak up all the warmth and comfort both Keith and Shiro offer him.

 

***

He wakes up alone, neither sides warm although the impression of two heads is still imprinted on the pillows on both sides.

He fights the sour mood this knowledge brings by going back to sleep.

 

***

He’s running analytics on his comp-screen while he walks to the hangar, fine-tuning the readings on his ship and making notes on what needs to be improved, as well as sending new orders to his Generals. In particular to Zethrid.

_Destroying one of the sixteen floating rocks around Vyux’s natural waterfalls just because the rebels were hiding among the vines keeping the rock together is NOT how we do business, Zethrid._

“No, he considers this our home,” Shiro’s voice floats from a few feet away.

_You are to await for Acxa’s arrival._

“I find that hard to believe. He despises anything that has to do with Galra,” Keith’s follows.

_You will give me a full report when you will return here._

He frowns at his comp-screen after he sends the I-am-not-pleased message back to his General. There’s something amiss and he looks around at the empty passageway, trying to figure out why he stopped suddenly.

“No, not in that sense,” Shiro says.

Lotor blinks and turns his attention towards the open doorway to the lounge room two steps away.

“When I found you back then, he told me to bring you home. I don’t know if it was a slip or if he really meant it, but he said _home_. Keith, he might not be straightforward with his feelings, but he _feels_ something for us. No commander would have been that adamant in saving us the way he was.”

The comp-screen screeches slightly under the force of his left hand.

“You came after me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So what are we supposed to do to make him accept our feelings?” Keith says harshly, frustration thick in his voice. “I want to fucking _touch_ him already. It’s getting harder and harder to control that urge.”

He returns the way he came without waiting for Shiro’s answer. He’s never felt so off-kilter as he does right now. Hearing any more of their _nonsense_ will not improve the swarming Weblums in the black hole that his stomach has become or decrease his heart’s surprising beating speed.

 

***

He never thought he would ever see such a thing.

Aboard his own ship, nonetheless.

The rhythmic beat of something that sounds a lot like the fall of Spheronem on Hobbos during winter and the squeak of shoes draws him into the training room.

But what has his full attention is Shiro and Keith wearing sweat-drenched undershirts and comfortable pants as they try to — fight each other over a Galra head-size globe? What kind of training are they condoning? And is that proper gear for fighting?

Within the next dobash he identifies a dozen different points on both his Earthlings’ bodies that could prove fatal if struck. Perhaps Shiro’s metal arm would be able to block any incoming blow, but they’re not fist-fighting; they’re not even using the maroon sphere to deal long-range attacks.

By the seventh ball that lands in the ring-on-the-wall, Lotor is already in the training room, approaching the two with a quizzical look on his face. He cannot apply any of the fighting styles he knows or has encountered to what his jumping and lunging Earthlings are doing.

He doesn’t expect a too-strong flung ball to be directed at him. His reflexes save him from a broken nose, but the polished wood floor is slippery for his footwear and he lands hard on his rear.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lotor asks, miffed.

The ball bounces off somewhere behind his back as Shiro and Lotor jog towards him. He hopes those pleased smiles are not a result of him falling down. But before he mulls that thought over, he accepts Shiro’s extended hand without thinking, which brings him to stand impossibly close to the Earthling. Unfailingly, his body turns on the Traitorous mode.

“Sorry,” Keith says, and he doesn’t sound in the least bit apologetic; he, too, stands too close to Lotor. “I didn’t see you there.”

He retracts his hand from Shiro’s and not-so-inconspicuously takes a step back. Keith’s smile widens while Shiro’s diminishes into exasperation.

“What kind of training is this?” He looks at the maroon ball, lying still on the other side of the room. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Pleasure training,” Keith says and Lotor’s eyes snap back to his.

“Keith.”

He chuckles and comes closer to Lotor. Again.

“Kidding. That’s called basketball on Earth. And it’s not training. Well, not in the way you mean it.”

Lotor still looks at him like he just started to talk in tongues. And isn’t that image pretty graphic in his mind?

“I don’t understand.”

“We could explain while showing you,” Shiro offers, his flesh hand once again extended.

This time Lotor doesn’t accept it, but he gives them a nod and they head towards the center of the square, right in front of the ring-on-the-wall.

“Now,” Keith starts, catching the ball Shiro throws at him and making it spin on his forefinger; Lotor quirks an eyebrow at that, not entirely impressed. “The game’s main idea is for you to make the ball go into the basket.”

“Sounds easy.”

Keith smirks. “Try it.”

Lotor does, but the ball hits the wall higher than the basket with such potency that it bounces off all the way to the opposite side of the room. A crease appears between his eyebrows.

“Why didn’t it go into the basket?”

Keith laughs at his befuddlement, hand patting his biceps in, perhaps, camaraderie, but it looks like it’s an involuntary reaction to how much he’s laughing. Shiro returns with the ball just as Keith’s laugh subsides.

It still rings in his ears even as Shiro takes on the explanation.

“You need to gauge the distance between yourself and the basket,” he says. “Also, you need to keep the ball in a certain way between your hands. Like this. After you ascertain that you have a good grip on it and that you more or less are conscious of the distance, you throw it.”

Shiro’s ball goes directly into the basket, thudding lazily on the floor afterwards. He used his flesh hand to deliver it. Lotor is impressed.

“So I need to modulate the strength with which I throw it?”

“Exactly!” Shiro beams at him, as if Lotor did something pleasing.

The Weblums return.

He lifts the ball the way he saw Shiro doing it, but then Keith steps in and adjusts his hold, warm hands lingering here and there, before he steps aside with a smirk.

He tries again and this time his ball hits the ring, but it doesn’t go into it. He’s losing interest in this terrestrial game.

“I don’t like it,” he confesses, gaze on the ball.

Shiro smiles, amused. “You’ll get better with time.”

Lotor wrinkles his nose, disagreeing with that notion. He picks up the ball and stares at it for a bit.

“I want to see you two play.”

Shiro and Keith share a glance and then nod. Lotor throws the ball in a wide arc without meaning to, but both Paladins jump to get it. Despite their height difference, it’s Keith that manages to steal the ball from Shiro and then the game is on.

If the previous one he stumbled upon was relaxed and carefree, this one has an edge to it, as if they need to prove something. Lotor returns to the balcony where he can see them better and the grunts and calls follow him.

His control over his own body is not impervious to the sight of two paladins enjoying their battle for the bouncing sphere, sweat dripping over their faces, skin on skin contact as they try to block each other from throwing the ball, Shiro’s strands of hair plastered to his forehead, his grinning, flushed face making him look like he just emerged from a tumble with Keith in the sheets.

Yes. His control is very much _not_ impervious to that image.

 

***

Matters worsen after that.

He doesn’t remember exactly when he lost control over his disciplined mind. But he remembers approximately when he lost control over his body, and it wasn’t during that match with Keith, after which the whole situation spiraled out of his control entirely.

(Now that he thinks about it he’s not sure if the excitement he felt back then was because he had an equal opponent or because they got to share so much physical contact.)

But rather, somewhere after they came forward with that ridiculous proposition, which degenerated into the situation he’s currently in. Namely, his raging hardness every time he wakes up.

And the damn Earthlings continue to fuel his dreams with their little touches and pleased smiles and gentle words. They don’t push him towards accepting them anymore.

They don’t even _mention_ that topic, which is driving his overactive brain up the walls and into black holes of circling thoughts.

 

***

He’s not sure if it’s lust or annoyance anymore — they come as one to him, these quintents — but he is sure that he’s never felt as frustrated as he does right now, last dream be damned.

He’s in the hangar, hoping to focus his mind on other, more important things rather than what his mind creatively concocts during his sleep cycles, but instead he finds one of the protagonist of his torture dreams working on a pod.

Underneath it to be precise.

“Pass me that weird-looking, red-handled wrench.”

His eyes glance over to the box full of instruments, half of which not even he is sure what they’re for. The wrench he’s asking for is easy to identify, half jutting out of the box as it is.

He squats and passes it underneath the small pod, but then his hand closes over Lotor’s fingers and they both freeze, before Lotor pulls his hand back and stands up.

“That surely isn’t Keith’s hand.”

The fact that the mixture of delight and amusement is so crystal clear in Shiro’s voice belies the accompanying smile he surely has even though Lotor can’t see it.

He leaves without acknowledging Keith’s return.

 

***

He is slowly, but steadily going crazy and it’s not funny. Especially not the vivid dreams he has involving Earthlings, soaked, _shirtless_ — they’ve never been shirtless, dream-wise or in reality! — bodies and a ball.

A blue ball, to be precise.

 

***

Lotor storms into their quarters.

“That’s it. You’re driving me up the wall with your little touches and crappy smiles,” he says, already going for the hem of his black shirt. “We’re doing this now.”

Shiro and Keith are halfway towards him before he finishes talking, each one stopping one of his hands from taking the shirt off completely.

“Lotor, calm down. You don’t have to do anything,” Shiro says.

Lotor huffs. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” He fixes Shiro with a sharp gaze. “You won’t stop until I give you what you want.”

Keith’s eyes darken. “We won’t ever force you into something you don’t want to.”

“But I don’t have a choice, do I? You changed your tactics and now I can’t get you two out of my head.”

“You always have a choice with us,” Shiro stresses.

An ugly laugh escapes Lotor. He walks towards their bed, arms tangling in his shirt from how much he’s shaking. He didn’t think this through. There’s no strategy or plan behind this, just his desperation pushing him into their arms, hoping that afterwards he’ll be able to get rid of the annoying turmoil within himself.

But now he wonders — rather belatedly — when, in the history of all the races in the universe, did that strategy ever had the intended results?

“Then this is me choosing to sleep with you. Let’s get it over with.”

Keith’s temper rises. “What’s the fucking point in sleeping with an unwilling partner when we told you about our feelings from the beginning? Or did you forget about that conversation where we clearly stated that we’re not looking for a one-night stand? You either come to us to stay or you don’t come at all!”

Lotor whirls around, anger flashing like a super nova. “That’s exactly the problem here, isn’t it? If I don’t come to you at all you will continue to pester me and mess up with my head. I think it’s time to get this thing out of our systems and go back to being civil without the sexual tension hanging in the air like a damn Arkobian mist!”

Shiro presses his lips, looking torn between something and other. Keith’s fists haven’t relaxed at his side and the thunder in his eyes stays ready to explode.

“Lotor, do you feel anything for us?”

He averts his eyes. That gaping wound on Shiro’s face is too much for him right now.

“Contrary to popular belief, I do feel — just like I feel the need to care for my Generals.” And those last words sound like he has to wrench them from some deep corner within.

“Of course you’d go for an evasive answer,” Keith mutters, irked.

Shiro steps forward. “But we’re not your Generals. We want more than those platonic feelings.”

A sharp smile. “And don’t I know.”

Shiro sighs, fingers massaging his eyes. “Lotor, you need to give us something here. We cannot continue with this standoffish behavior endlessly.”

“Then back off.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow. “Do you really want us to back off now that we’ve come so far? Will you really be able to go back to normal?”

Lotor’s mouth is poised to fire a comeback, but the words tangle themselves on his tongue, opposite answers fighting to get out. He pauses for long enough to see the micro expressions morph Keith’s bored look into a satisfied one.

Change of tactics, then.

“Look, I don’t want any more complications than we already had. That’s why I’m here, to help you release some of that pent up sexual frustration and return to normal.”

“But that’s the problem,” Keith says, and they’re both within arm’s reach. “Once we get a taste of you, we’ll want more.”

“And I keep telling you that I cannot give you more than this,” Lotor says, backtracking until his legs hit the bed.

“You can’t or you won’t?” asks Shiro.

Lotor averts his eyes. They’re such stubborn, impossible men that his frustration is effervescent.

He’s losing, and he knows it — _f_ _eels_ it in the marrow of his bones and in those stupid eager faces of his Earthlings.

“You do realize” — Shiro continues — “that if you sleep with us it’ll be inevitable for you to not feel vulnerable at one point or another.”

Lotor scoffs. “Please, sex isn’t vulnerable.”

Keith smirks. “With us, it is. Honesty goes both ways.”

“Why do you want more than I can give? You won’t see me beg.”

“There’s power in begging.”

There’s a certain intensity in Keith’s eyes that Lotor cannot withstand for long.

“We don’t want anything you’re not prepared to give us,” Shiro says, just as Keith gently takes his hand and kisses his palm, working towards his wrist; he shivers at the softness of Keith’s lips and the feather-like kisses. “What we want is a chance for us to prove to you how serious we are about our feelings for you.”

“Allow us to show you what determination and love feels like coming from two Earthlings,” Keith says, eyes darting up to meet his as his lips stay touching his palm.

His breath stutters in his chest, just like his heart and the scrambled thoughts in his brain. The room is a hundred degrees warmer and his skin is over-sensitive under his garments. He wants them off.

“For how long?” Who dared speak with his mouth? That is not his voice, weak and on the brink of begging.

“For as long as you want us,” Shiro says, a wide smile on his face.

“I never said I want you.” But it’s feeble and not much of a protest.

Keith’s smirk returns. “It’s okay, we’re practically masters at reading between your lines.”

He pushes Lotor to sit on the bed and straddles him, going for his mouth — he stops just shy of touching his lips, a question in his eyes. It’s this that snaps Lotor out of his trance and with a powerful hand (that’s all too gentle on Keith’s neck) he tilts Keith’s head and shows him how a kiss from a half Galra feels and tastes like.

It’s filthy and with too much tongue, but Keith moans shamelessly into it, enthusiastically biting back and fighting Lotor for dominance. And that is what ultimately pulls Lotor in completely and he throws caution and the remnants of his hard-won control out of the ship to lift and throws Keith’s body on the bed, not unlike the way they wrestled in the training room.

This time, too, Keith buckles up, trying to dislodge him, but it’s not an actual fight, so Lotor traps Keith’s hands underneath his, and presses his groin into Keith’s hardness.

Keith struggles and groans, hips meeting Lotor’s and he covers Keith’s mouth with his once again so that he won’t answer them with his own, because this, right here, puts his higher brains out of commission. Leave it to Keith to unravel him so easily.

He wants to devour Keith whole and show him who’s in control. And it might have been a plan, if Keith didn’t look one breath away from begging him to do just that.

“Get rid of the fucking clothes!” Keith orders, frustration laced in his words.

Lotor leans back and Keith, being freed, goes after him, just as the bed dips and a wall of sturdy muscles and warmth plasters itself on his back. Shiro’s uneven breaths fan over his exposed neck and his own hardness presses in the crack of his ass.

And suddenly, he feels a well of power pouring over him at the notion that _he_ brought his Earthlings to this point, hard and wanting — and it’s all because of him.

Hands help him remove the shirt, neither Earthling being clinical with his touches as their mouths sear on his unblemished skin around his shoulder blades and collarbone, hands exploring as their lips trail at a more sedate, maddening pace.

He moans loud and wanton because it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. All the attention and theharsh breaths, low sounds and the gentle touches,never to wound or incapacitate — if he ever thought he’d be able to control the situation and play the paladins the way he wants to, this right here surpasses any ability to do so.

Keith’s teeth scrape the side of his neck. “I want to leave a mark on you. Tell me I can.”

He moans, filthy and needy and not at all what he thought himself capable of doing with his vocal chords. The roughness of Keith’s voice is becoming a problem.

“Yes,” comes the breathless answer.

Keith descends, then, on his shoulder, kissing and licking, down on his torso where he tortures Lotor into giving up a keen whimper, and still down on his stomach, where hot breath and lips compel his hands to go into Keith’s hair.

Shiro turns out to be a sturdy pillar, keeping his body reclined at such an angle that his folded legs don’t have to suffer from the pressure. He shudders as Shiro’s metal hand, cold, smooth and lethal, descends over his ribs, dipping beneath the hem of his pants and then up again.

He still has to taste Shiro’s mouth and see for himself how the man kisses; if it’s as desperate and volcanic as Keith or something else. But in due time. Keith’s teeth latch onto a portion of his skin, right above the jutting of his hip bone and Lotor has no idea what kind of sound leaves his mouth, but it’s low and keening.

His hands clench into Keith’s hair, which pulls a moan from Keith as he sucks the mark into Lotor’s skin.

His hardness strains against his pants, but he has no coherent words to demand that they liberate his body from that prison. Shiro’s fast breathing and twitching hips do not help him in any way as he licks Lotor’s shoulder absentmindedly, no doubt being as enraptured with Keith as he is.

One hand leaves the mop of unruly hair only to slide over the back of Shiro’s head, fingers loosening the elastic that keeps his shoulder-length hair in place.

He takes that kiss from Shiro’s surprised mouth because he cannot wait a moment longer and because Shiro won’t take unless Lotor either voices the demand or makes the first step.

Shiro’s surprise lasts about two ticks before he gets on with the program and responds to Lotor. And it truly is nothing like Keith’s kiss; Shiro kisses like he wants to explore every nook and crevice there is into Lotor’s mouth, like the worries in this world could not rush him into this if they begged him. There’s patience and slowness, soft inhales and short exhales, and it’s in contrast with everything Lotor wants right now.

He doesn’t even let him control the kiss the way he did with Keith. Every time Lotor pushes the kiss into a more fast-paced mode, Shiro always gentles it back to something slow and dangerous.

It’s vulnerable and full of meaning and it gets to Lotor more than Keith’s explosive passion and consuming desires.

Shiro feels like the eye of a hurricane and when the kiss desists — neither ending it, but both coming up for air like it’s a natural occurrence — Shiro smiles that genuine, open smile.

He’d like to say that the wetness Shiro thumbs away from the corner of his eye is not tears, but there’s too much emotional nakedness going on between them right now to summon the necessary energy to lie to himself convincingly.

Not that he has time to do that, what with Keith getting rid of his own shirt. This time he doesn’t need to avert his eyes or berate himself for the hand that touches Keith’s chiseled stomach, climbing over his torso, palm flat and exploring. Keith stands still, allowing Lotor this. He looks up and finds understanding brimming in Keith’s eyes — as if he understands Lotor’s need to touch.

He takes his hand and kisses his knuckles.

“What do you want, Shiro?” He finds himself asking, watching Keith close his eyes to savor this moment.

“I want both of you in any way you’ll let me have you.”

Lotor smirks, then, and Keith’s eyes snap open to look at Shiro and then turn towards Lotor.

“Full points for the perfect answer,” Lotor says.

He dislodges himself from within Shiro’s warm embrace and Keith’s loose hold. Shiro’s arms tighten before they let him go, once again choosing to do the _right thing_. He turns towards him when he’s a body stretch away from the both of them.

“But that is not what you truly mean.”

Keith looks at Shiro, for once not intervening in any way.

“It’s what I want.”

The smirk turns sharp. “For someone who preaches honesty like a Hassenin monk, you sure avoid being too open with your feelings.”

Keith changes gaze-destination. “And who’s the one that’s the most dishonest here among the three of us?”

Lotor shakes his head. “You want me to let down my guard and trust you with myself, but you’re still not prepared to be emotionally naked with me. You already know what to expect from me, so if nothing else, I have been honest in my dishonesty.”

Shiro’s hand darts out to catch Keith’s wrist when the man gears up to argue.

“He’s right,” Shiro says, then meets Lotor’s eyes. “I haven’t exactly been forthcoming with my own desires, but that’s because they’re selfish and might come across as suffocating. I didn’t want to drive you away before giving Keith a chance to win you over.”

Keith scoffs. “As if convincing Lotor to accept this doesn’t require both of our efforts. As if I’m the epitome of sainthood and I feel no possessive desire to keep him away from prying eyes, locked somewhere safe where only we can access.”

“That’s such a preposterous thought! You can’t control—“

“This is not about control, but about all three of us allowing ourselves to be vulnerable with each other. And that means expressing our deepest, darkest desires, which otherwise we’d keep buried within.”

“Then why are you keeping such a tight control over yourself?” His sharp gaze finds Shiro’s weakness at a glance and he’s unable to stop the oncoming statement, even though he knows he should. “And considering your hero streak, I’m sure you didn’t let yourself be completely ‘vulnerable’ with Keith, either.”

Shiro averts his eyes.

“Shiro...”

Suddenly, Keith looks — lost and hurt, and it puts a pang in his chest because he knows that feeling all too well. For the first time, Lotor truly regrets his own words.

Before he says something — _anything_ — Shiro meets his gaze again and the determination in his eyes looks both stoic and threatening. He prepares for the worst, but then it thaws and a plethora of micro expressions cross his face, too fast for Lotor to identify each one. All at once, his shoulders relax with the sigh he releases.

“I apologize to both of you for keeping myself at arm’s length,” he says, and then his eyes lock with Lotor’s; this time it’s a challenge he reads there. “However, this means that you’re prepared to accept everything I want to give you. Accept me for who I truly am.”

Why does it feel like he’s in over his head? How come whenever he has them in a weak position they always manage to turn the tables on him?

He’s not prepared for this. He doesn’t know what to do with whatever Shiro will offer him. He never had to deal with this kind of situation, and suddenly he’s pushed into the pilot seat without the safety belt on. No intelligent being would ever allow themselves to lose control over something like this.

But here he is.

He shakes his head. “No. No, you don’t get to spring something like this on me and then let me deal with the consequences.”

“But you want me to be completely bare before you, emotionally and otherwise. Did you think that that would come at a low price? Or that you would be exempt from repaying with something of your own?”

This is not the Shiro he knows like the back of his hand; not that paladin who forces himself to do the right thing even when he shouldn’t, who acts like the entire weight of the world rests upon his shoulders and he’s been caring it around since he was born. Not that fiery pilot who defied higher orders for _one_ man.

No. The one crawling towards him is a different Shiro. A stranger.

“This is the perfect time to retreat, Lotor. Go back to your room—“

“Shiro.” The urgency and terror in Keith’s voice isn’t even incentive enough to break from Shiro’s hypnotic gaze.

“— and pretend that nothing happened — or was about to happen — here, right now. That everything is back to normal, back to how it used to be, with you pining over us and us doing the same, but being more vocal about it. Retreat into your protective shell, ignore the feelings that I’m sure have developed by now, and years from now you’ll look back to this day and hate yourself for not taking what we offered you. Because years from now we might be dead, killed—“

It’s not his hand that shots out and bundles the black material in that fist like a warning, although no one else in this room has that skin color. It’s not his hand that trembles and wants to both push this wretched, stubborn Earthling away and pull him closer.

It’s _not_.

But the heart that’s in overdrive at the mere _thought_ of that happening is his, he’ll admit to that.

What’s written on his face might be even worse than his body’s reactions, if it pushed Keith to come into physical contact with him — to offer comfort.

“Shiro,” Keith says, and it’s low, barely above a whisper. “You went too far.”

“No, let him see the flawed version of me.” And he finally looks at Keith, giving Lotor a bit of respite. “I am not the hero you thought I was. Heck, I’m not the hero _I_ thought I was.”

“Stop,” Keith whispers, shaking his head.

“I don’t always make the right decisions, and more often than not those decisions put you in danger, something a leader would never do.”

“Stop.”

“And I’m superficial with my feelings, always afraid that they’ll get in the way and somebody’s gonna get hurt, so I keep people at a polite distance to hide this side of me that would make you—“

“Shiro!” he raises his voice, glaring at Shiro. “You are so much more than that! Why are you beating yourself down over things that are normal, that make you who you are, good and bad?”

“Because this is the man you put your faith in.”

“So?”

“Are you trying,” — Lotor finds himself saying — “to become something spiteful like my father?”

That shocks everyone involved.

“No, of course not.”

“Then act like it,” Lotor says, his fist finding the power to clench back in his shirt, devoid of tremors. “A leader makes mistakes, yes, but he learns from them. He cares about everyone under his command, and he puts himself right there on the line along with his soldiers. He encourages and gives them hope even when the outcome is uncertain, but knows when to back away from a fight. He’s prone to make irrational, often cold, decisions when it involves his loved ones, but it’s always with the best interests at heart. A leader is not perfect, but this kind of idiot is better than a tyrant, and whoever preaches otherwise is a fool and should be sent to the remotest corners of the universe.”

He usually would have savored the kind of expressions his Earthlings wear right now — especially the speechless silence that follows a monologue which feels like it cost him an invaluable part of himself to get out. The aftertaste of those words is sour and awful; nothing like his past speeches that had his audience stand in ovation.

This feels tailored to a selected two — three, to be honest.

“Was that a confession?” Shiro asks, still too stunned to school his features.

“No part of what I said sounded like that.”

“Everything you said sounded like that.” Keith smiles, wide and mischievous. “We finally caught you.”

“What are— you didn’t—“

“Oh, yes, we did,” Shiro says, flanking him on the other side. “You’re still not honest with yourself and us, but we have our methods to make you unable to lie to either one.”

They both push him down on the pillow Keith drags down, gentle hands not forcing him, but he finds himself obeying their intentions, nonetheless.

“I hope you’re prepared,” Keith says, dangerous grin in place, as Shiro settles between Lotor’s legs. “Now that we have you we won’t let go of you easily.”

The pillow was necessary just so he could watch the two dismantle him piece by piece. While Keith distracts Lotor with his mouth and tongue and teeth, feeling as if he’s in more places than one, Shiro gets rid of Lotor’s pants, and the harsh, chilly air on his fevered length makes Lotor suck in a sudden breath.

Keith smirks from above his ribs.

“How do you want to do this?” Shiro asks, and it’s directed at Keith.

Keith shimmies out of his trouser and underwear, not bothering to make a show of it.

“You got to hug him first and I got to kiss him first. You had him confess to you first, so I get to have him inside me now, which makes us even steven, and later,“ — he smiles at Lotor, wide and promising, as he straddles his chest — “who knows, I might get to fuck him, too, if he feels inclined to let me.”

Shiro curses, hot breath fanning over Lotor’s hardness.

But he’s not just along for the ride, not without voicing his own want, now that they’re here, almost competing with each other in how much more debauched they can be. Lotor won’t lag behind.

He links his fingers behind his head and turns a smirk towards Keith, making himself even more comfortable in all his naked glory. Not that he’s ever been ashamed of it, but he’s never thought of his body as sexually arousing. His Earhlings seem to have other ideas on that.

“You might want to stretch yourself better than when we do it,” Shiro says and Keith looks back over his shoulder. “I don’t think you’ll be able to take all of him. At least not the first time.”

His wide smile pulls a shiver out of Lotor. “I can always try.”

Lotor responds in kind. He takes Keith’s hand, but stops scant millimeters from his mouth.

“I advise you to pay heed to your leader’s words. We don’t want you hurt in the middle of it.”

Keith’s grin fills with teeth as he leans down, hand pressing in the pillow near his head.

“Is that a challenge?”

“What does it sound like?”

He takes two fingers into his mouth and Keith’s grin wobbles as wet warmth presses in from all sides, causing his cock to twitch on Lotor’s chest.

A sigh escapes Shiro, as if he’s used to their antics by now and choose to suffer them in silence, and then he descends on Lotor’s hardness and a strangled noise filters through his nose at the strong sensations coming in waves to assault his brain. Through his half-closed eyelids he sees Keith’s smile sharpen, and his mouth works on his fingers sloppily and without the intent and purpose from before.

“Fuck! Your tongue — and fangs.” Keith pants above him, a tint of faint red spreading on his cheeks; Lotor finds that he likes this expression on his face. “Imagine that mouth of yours on my cock. The scrape of your— _fuck_!”

He moans as Lotor does just that, teeth pushing down on Keith’s fingers, fangs light, but there, painting the image of Keith’s cock in his mouth rather than his fingers and he feels wet warmth on his chest accompanied by the glide of his length. One of his hand prevents Keith from coming, wrapping easily over his base and Keith releases a keen moan, hips buckling once before his other hand hampers their movement.

Lotor smirks when Keith’s fingers slide out. “I want to say what this is, but you don’t understand my language yet and I’m sure you have a word for it.”

Keith pants, eyes squeezed shut and Shiro huffs a laugh behind him, breath caressing Lotor’s groin as his throat works to take him in more; he’s only halfway down, but it’s enough to make Lotor see exploding stars on the ceiling and he’s sure he didn’t install a fake-screen there.

“That’s Americans,” — Keith’s breath stutters — “the ones who label everything. You could say they’re a different race, but really they’re just shoving down other nations’ throats the idea that they’ve developed a culture.”

“I know I’m distracting most of the time,” — his smirk sharpens, fangs showing — “but I believe the implied question was simple. Where’s my answer?”

Keith opens his eyes to be greeted by a still put-together Prince, smile challenging and cocky and Keith would like nothing more than to wipe it out. Preferably with his mouth, but he’s open to other suggestions: like his strangled cock.

“Now I’m definitely keeping you.”

“Keith,” Lotor says, low and tantalizing and Keith curses.

“It’s a size-kink. That’s what we call it. And it’s a two word.”

Shiro leans up, a faint pop before a low chuckle reverberates from his chest.

“He’s playing you like a fiddle.”

“Shut up.”

But it’s Lotor who actually shuts Keith up — with two of his fingers. He presents them before Keith, waiting for his Earthling to either take the offer or refuse it. When his fingers slide against the slightly porous, wet tongue he fully understands why Keith was so affected. It’s not just the feeling.

More like it’s the combination of sight and touch: Keith’s half-lidded eyes, gaze hazy, but still directed at Lotor, tongue twisting and caressing his fingers, sometimes teeth scraping against them — he’s in over his head. And this is just one Earthling.

He’s more vocal about it, though, moaning every time he sucks on them. His own cock twitches inside Shiro’s mouth, which in turn pulls out a half-groan from his other Earthling.

He’s never felt this powerful and satisfied by both what he sees and the results of his actions. And despite opposing this kind of intimacy with all he had, he can’t deny that he’s feeling good doing this, giving and receiving pleasure.

He’s having fun and he can’t even lie to himself about it.

The easy banter between them is unexpected, though, especially after the heavy conversation they had not long ago, but he’s — glad. Glad that it’s possible for them to work even like this.

He slides in another finger and Keith’s saliva coats them and his chin, dripping down over Lotor’s palm and the back of it. The smirk at the sight of Keith slipping further and further away from his usual volcanic self towards a more debauched and wanton Keith brings him satisfaction of the highest order.

A stray thought invites the image of a repeat, but it’s soon forgotten as he pulls his fingers out and finds his ring of muscles. It’s not difficult to know how human anatomy works; he’s done his research since the first time they clashed.

Back then with the intention of finding out their weaknesses.

Now — he uses that knowledge for nefarious purposes.

A surprised sound ushers from Keith’s lips, eyes widening. He pushes back when Lotor teases, but Lotor’s distracted by Shiro’s wicked tongue and his breath stutters, eyes closing when he tongues his slit.

“Shiro,” — it’s wobbly and gasping, despite the words sounding commanding in his mind — “if you want me to take Keith, you better slow down there.”

“I don’t see you making much of an effort to prepare Keith.”

He curses under his breath and Keith chuckles as he pushes back and this time he breaches his paladin — two fingers at a time, one knuckle. Keith inhales sharply and since he only has one point of contact between them, he feels how Keith’s whole body tenses, the muscles around his fingers spasming, as if unable to decide if they want Lotor to go further or they just want to expel him.

But he waits, his rapt attention on Keith’s every micro expression. And there’s a lot of them crossing his features right now.

“This will take a while,” Lotor says conversationally, finding Keith’s face to be the best map to what he’s feeling right now.

“Make half of that,” Shiro quips. “My jaws is starting to hurt.”

“Since when — are you complaining?” Keith asks between breaths.

“Since we decided that we’re honest with each other.”

“I don’t remember you,” — second knuckle — “ _shit_ , being so bitchy.”

“And you weren’t always a smartass, but here we are undergoing serious character development.”

“Lotor’s — _fuck,_ can you go any slower? — fault for making me be like that. Automatic response, I think.”

“My pleasure,” Lotor says, grinning at Keith’s scrunched up face.

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

“All the same.”

He works his fingers inside Keith for a while, opening him up the best he can. But then Keith’s hips start to push down on them, taking them almost to the third knuckle, seeking more friction, and his brow dips in concentration because he’s sure Keith will come the moment he takes off his hand and he can’t slow down Keith’s sloppy up-and-down with both hands busy as they are.

And then, all of a sudden, one of his fingers grazes a bundle of nerves inside Keith and he gasps, muscle tensing and joints locking. His gaze never left Keith’s face and he sees the moment surprise and then desire suffuse his features.

“Do that again.”

It’s raspy and commanding, and Lotor finds that he’s unable to defy him, so he thrusts in again and Keith’s back arches with a keen sound escaping his open mouth. He’s never seen Keith from this angle, caught in the throes of passion, completely at his primal instinct’s mercy, muscles in his neck tense, small and large veins pushing against the pale skin, dark and caring life.

He has a moment of disconnection, the entirety of his attention focused on Keith, not feeling Shiro’s mouth on his, or his body warmth between his open legs that leave him exposed, or Keith’s body caught between his hands. There’s just sight.

And it’s glorious.

Keith returns from wherever he went to, blinking away the haziness and locking eyes with Lotor. He doesn’t point out what he sees there, he just leans down and kisses Lotor. And it’s desperation and too many vows and it reminds him of Shiro when the kiss slows down.

A wall of cold envelops his hardness when Shiro leans back and up from the bed, only to return a few ticks later. He’s too concentrated on Keith and the taste of his lips to pay much attention to what Shiro’s up to, but then something cold and wet is coated on his length and he gasps into Keith’s mouth. Keith looks back over his shoulder and then returns with a sly smile.

“Don’t worry, Shiro’s just fussing over both our well-being — or continued pleasure.”

Neither expect Shiro to be so thorough as to join Loto’s fingers with one of his own, sluiced with whatever substance he decided was safe for sex. Keith hisses and moans as he’s stretched even more.

But after a dobash at most, Shiro looks at Lotor and he _understands_ what Shiro wants and they both take out their fingers carefully and slowly. Shiro doesn’t let Keith voice any protest because he pulls him back and Lotor watches as Shiro’s bigger body covers Keith protectively, not unlike a blanket. He murmurs things in Keith’s ear, kissing his neck every few words, but Keith’s half-lidded eyes are solely on Lotor, and Lotor can’t be arsed to care what Shiro says.

He can’t identify the convoluted mess he feels right now at the sight of his Earthlings being so open with their desires, all of them either directed at or including Lotor. His mind digresses so much that he misses Shiro’s hands guiding Keith’s hips down on Lotor’s length.

Both of them suck in a surprised breath when he breaches Keith’s entrance — Lotor not expecting the tightness and warmth and _stars on his ceiling_ , and Keith most probably because he’s surprised at the size of him.

“Holy shit! He’s huge!”

Shiro chuckles in his hair, flesh hand massaging his hip as Keith continues to go down at a snail’s pace, breath stuttering and uneven.

“I told you.”

“No,“ — shuddered exhale — “you didn’t.”

Shiro replaces Lotor’s hand on Keith’s cock with his metal one, and Lotor struggles to get his breath under control, hands coming to grip Keith’s thighs.

“Look at him,” Shiro says, and both sets of eyes are on him at once, lust-filled gazes lighting him on fire. “Finally he shows a new expression.”

“I like it,” Keith tells him, wobbly smile on his face. “He’s completely unaccustomed to it.”

“We’ll have to get him used to wearing it.” Shiro’s breathing comes out in pants, as if just the sight of whatever expression Lotor has and the faint sounds Keith voices are enough to get him off. “He looks so debauched and wanton, as if he’s never had a taste of this, of what sex with people he has feelings for feels like.”

Keith huffs a laugh before he grimaces and presses down even more. Lotor curses under his breath, muscles in his stomach hurting from how tense they are because if he’s not clamping down on his urge to thrust up into Keith’s inviting warmth, he will end up hurting him.

It’s hard for him to also parse what they’re saying, seeing as he’s too focused on the point of contact with Keith, but then his tip touches that bundle of nerves and Keith’s muscles spasm and press on his cock just as Keith moans loud, and Lotor’s mouth produces another string of colorful curses in his own language.

“Shiro,” — Keith whines — “lemme come. You’ve no idea how… how he feels inside. He’s huge and hard and touching—“

An avalanche of unintelligible words pour down, and Lotor’s sure that no one in this room understands them. Shiro is the only one who looks the least unaffected, although his cheeks are flushed and his gaze is hazy, panting a weak laugh.

“Patience.”

“My ass has no patience!”

“It’ll have to,” Shiro says, swallows and then resumes panting, never once taking his eyes off of Lotor. “You need to show him what he’s gonna lose if he decides to bail on us. Let’s convince him that what we’re offering is worth every vulnerable expression he shows.”

Keith moans and pushes down more, tight walls dragging over Lotor’s length. Lotor completely loses control over his breath and his shred of sanity. Right here and right now he’s the most exposed he’s ever been, and his Earthlings are like Arkanines latched onto a portion of him and unwilling to let him go until they suck him dry.

Keith more than Shiro, at least.

When the agonizing descend stops, he finally allows himself to relax his muscles some and the death grip he had on Keith’s thighs. They take the respite to breathe properly and prepare for what comes next.

Keith doesn’t let him do that for long as he gyrates his hips once and sparks fly behind Lotor’s closed eyelids, the sensations assaulting his brain and pushing his head further into the pillow and his chest up.

“God,” Keith whispers, awe suffusing the word. “He’s gorgeous.”

“And he’s ours,” Shiro murmurs and when Lotor opens his eyes, Shiro’s nuzzling Keith behind his ear, their attention still on him. “Come on Keith, he still hasn’t realized what he’s in for.”

Keith plants his hands on Lotor’s chest and leans down a bit. They’re both sweaty and panting, but Keith still manages to offer him a genuine smile.

“Ready?”

Lotor doesn’t know what to say to that, if a simple ‘yes’ or a questioning ‘no’ will suffice, so he finds his hand caressing Keith’s cheek and Keith leaning into it, turning his head to nuzzle in his palm, peering one eye open to smile lopsided at him.

Keith pushes down at once and Lotor’s hand goes in his hair, clenching as both of them moan at the sparkling friction. Stars above, Keith is so _tight_. The fact that he managed to enter him at all, baffles him completely.

After that, Keith’s hips find a rhythm and a depth of their own, pressing down on Lotor’s cock and dragging up like tidal waves on Tyros (if tidal waves were tight and maddening). He never quite manages to sheath Lotor completely because let’s be honest, Lotor _is_ endowed.

He’s so lost in the feeling of a hot body above and around him that he loses track of whose moans and groans and pants are louder or more frequent. It’s all a blur, the only thing that’s stark in his mind is the building orgasm, gearing towards an explosive exit. He wonders if he should warn Keith about it, but then his tip touches Keith’s bundle of nerves and Keith’s body locks down, walls pressing agonizingly over Lotor’s cock as he climaxes with a cry out, come splashing Lotor’s stomach and chest.

It’s enough to have him follow with a silent cry of his own, vision whiting out with a buzz in his ears.

When he comes to himself, the weight of Keith is more pronounced and he finds the man unconscious in Shiro’s arms, who’s murmuring whatever it is he always murmurs in Keith’s ear. Panic grips Lotor like Tumeric vines and he sits up as best he can on jelly limps, not even acknowledging the drying come on his chest.

“Is he okay?”

Shiro turns a warm smiles towards him and his flesh hand caresses his cheek. This, more than anything, makes Lotor feel so vulnerable that his first instinct is to put as much distance between them as possible, but he manages to clamp down on it and let Shiro have this.

“Yeah, he’s just out for a bit.”

He looks at Keith’s slack face because it’s safer, and then down to make sure he’s breathing. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, so the last of his fears melts away and he finds himself smiling at Keith’s unguarded face.

“That’s a beautiful smile on your face.” Lotor’s eyes snap up to meet Shiro’s dark ones. “You should wear it more. If not around other people, at least around us in the privacy of our quarters.”

He returns his gaze to Keith, mulling that over.

“Why did you let me have him? There’s clearly a difference between our anatomies. I could’ve hurt him.”

“Do you think I would’ve entrusted Keith to you, if I didn’t trust you?” Shiro frowns. “I love Keith like a part of myself. I wouldn’t have let him come within a mile of you, if you wanted to harm him or you really didn’t want this, with us.”

“What about me?” He can’t voice those words unless they come out strangled and almost unintelligible. “Where do I figure in your dynamic? If you love Keith that much, why allow me in?”

“Because it’s what we both want. At first, we wanted to form a relationship based on friendship with you, but you grew on us along the way and we decided that it was worth to try and push the boundaries you set around yourself.”

“So that’s it? You just decide that you want me, my opinion be damned?”

Shiro gives him a pointed look, somehow managing to transmit the ‘should we remember the negotiations we went through until now?’ message.

“We checked and made sure there was even a glimmer of hope that you’d want us back. And considering the long and pointed stares you were giving us and how readily you engaged in Keith’s challenges, there was only one logical conclusion we could reach.”

He doesn’t bother to deny any of it because it would sound false and hollow even to his own ears. Besides, he’s too intent on following the fingers that explore Keith’s face, neck, shoulder, torso, then up again. He’s unable to keep himself from touching this bossy, challenging and smartass creature that wheedled his way under his skin.

“As for where you are in this, I can only say that it’s anywhere you want to be. We won’t force you into anything you don’t want to. It’s entirely up to you.”

Lotor meets Shiro’s gaze, looking for answers his mouth might have refrained from giving and finding only patience and a serene expression.

“I’m gonna need to cleans us up.” Lotor quirks an eyebrow and Shiro chuckles. “You weren’t the only ones climaxing.”

At which Lotor’s eyes zero in on Shiro’s groin where a dark, wet patch is visible even in the poor light. He hands Lotor a shirt from the many strewn across the bed and he uses it to clean the come from his chest and stomach.

“Here, take Keith,” he says, and Keith’s body passes hands — and chests.

He’s forced to lie down again and he feels his cock slide out with a fair amount of come oozing from Keith. Shiro places a kiss on Keith’s hair and then on Lotor’s forehead.

“If I had a camera, I’d take a picture of you two.” He laughs when Lotor frowns at him. “You look like someone dumped a kitty on you and you have no idea how to handle it.”

The frown intensifies, but Shiro leaves, still chuckling to himself. The silence is deafening after the bathroom door closes and he realizes that he’s never been this alone with Keith. And in this close proximity without needing to think up a smart comeback or the best way to block Keith’s oncoming blows.

Keith’s limp body feels — nice and warm. And cuddly, which is odd because he never saw his Earthling as someone he’d cuddle, willingly or not. Keith’s soft breaths fan over his shoulder from where his mop of unruly hair is tucked under his chin. A hand finds its way on Keith’s back and he stirs, soft sounds spilling from his mouth, and Lotor’s assaulted by a wave of protectiveness that stuns him into freezing.

Carefully and slowly, his arms come up to embrace his Earthling the way he always dreamed and wanted to: tight enough to feel the body press against him, but loose enough that Keith can still breathe.

“This is why we love you,” Shiro says, and that snaps Lotor out of his little reverie.

He looks down to find a naked Shiro wiping out the come from Keith’s ass and then from around Lotor’s length.

He didn’t realize he closed his eyes to savor the moment. The vulnerability of that gesture grates some prideful, sensitive nerve in him, but he simply cannot bring himself to unlatch his hands from around Keith. He’s secure and safe in his arms and that’s all that matters to this new instinct that tells him to protect Keith from anything and anybody that tries to take him away.

“You are protective of what you deem yours, just like we are.”

He looks down at the man he unwittingly put a claim to.

“Love is a strong word,” he murmurs, almost into Keith’s hair.

“Isn’t that how you’d describe what you feel when you look at him?”

He meets Shiro’s gaze. “With him it’s easy to know what to feel. He’s a person who you either hate with all your might or you love him to pieces.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Shiro chuckles.

“But where are you in all of this?”

That gets Shiro’s attention, and the hardness he saw in his eyes a while ago peeks back.

“You are many things,” — he continues — “Takashi Shirogane, but not easy to love. Why is that? What keeps you away from really connecting with Keith.”

“Or you.”

Lotor pauses, studying Shiro’s micro-expressions and finding too little information there.

“Or me,” he allows.

“Speaking as a leader to another leader, it’s hard to find people who you can trust completely.”

“It is, but you were the one who kept pushing for honesty and vulnerability between us, and trust is right there among them. Now you finally have that, Takashi Shirogane — or at the very least I come as close to them as I know how to right now. What’s keeping you away?”

“The thing about trust is that I can’t turn it on and off whenever I want to.”

“So you still don’t trust me. Or Keith, for that matter.”

It’s disappointment and hurt that he feels at the knowledge. He’d like to pull back his protective cloak of royal haughtiness and dismiss this entire conversation from his mind, but they’ve unraveled Lotor so much that he feels like an exposed nerve, raw and prone to bleeding at the slightest rough touch.

Shiro shakes his head. “I don’t trust myself to pull back if I become too much.”

“That’s too vague, Takashi Shirogane.”

“Why do you keep saying my full name?”

“Because right now you’re a stranger with the face of someone familiar and I need to remind myself of that fact.”

They stare at each other for a good while before Shiro sighs and admits defeat by averting his eyes.

“What I mean is that once I let go, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop or return to how I was. Keeping myself in check works with Keith, but I think it’s only because he’s been too focused on you these past months to pay heed to the details.”

“That won’t work with me.”

“It won’t.”

“Which is why I’m asking you: is this relationship you’re trying to forge with me worth upsetting the balance you created within yourself? Because speaking as a leader towards another leader, I didn’t willingly surrender mine to you. It just toppled off into shambles the moment I had a taste of you two and I’m still grappling around to find my footing.”

Shiro smiles at that. “You are worth it. Both of you. You’re worth so much more than I can give you.”

Lotor scoffs. “Stop with the drama act. You’re a leader. Act like it.”

The smile softens.

“I’m also a lover. Which means that right here and now I’m just Shiro, a man with simple needs.”

Lotor grins, sharp and wolfish. “And there’s my answer — and yours.” Shiro frowns. “You told me not long ago that I should be more expressive around you two, more vulnerable. What you actually want me to do is to discard my leader persona and just be myself around you. Why don’t you listen to your own words?”

“Why don’t we both do that?”

Lotor blinks and even before the words are out of his mouth he feels his chest constrict and warm up (and it’s not because of Keith drooling on it).

“For Keith.”

Shiro inhales a sudden breath, most probably not expecting those words coming from Lotor. Now who’s the one still playing a game here?

“For Keith,” he agrees, and his expression thaws into fondness when he looks down at his lover.

“Besides, you’re never _just_ Shiro here and those needs are more than simple.”

Shiro’s eyes darken and his flesh hand glides over Lotor’s tibia, knee, stopping on his thigh.

“Is that so?”

Keith stirs before Lotor can fire a comeback.

“Mm, best feeling to wake up to.”

Shiro chuckles, warm and fond, and goes into the bathroom for a moment, before coming back sans cloth.

“What happened while I was out? I mean, clearly something good if I’m cuddled by you.” He smiles down at Lotor, wide and genuine.

“We had a heart-to-heart,” Shiro says, gaze meeting Lotor’s.

“You’re such assholes for doing that without me.”

Shiro huffs a laugh. “Your assholes, you mean.”

“Yeah, _my_ assholes.” He smiles down at Lotor. “But are you okay? Did Shiro go all maudlin on you again?”

Lotor smirks, arms going lax on Keith’s back when Keith props himself on his forearms.

“No more than you did.”

“Oh, come on! I was caught up in something — or more like someone.”

“I’m not even considering that as an excuse.”

“Speaking of said someone,” — Keith smirks — “it seems that you’re ready for another round.”

Keith pecks his lips as his ass drags up Lotor’s fresh hardness and voluntarily gets off of him, to Lotor’s unvoiced protest. He sighs and sits up.

“I need a shower.”

It’s all he says as he makes his way towards the bathroom, heated gazes burning on his naked back. Or that might be his ass. It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact location when his whole body is worth worshipping.

The dark grey tiles appear ashy in the artificial light and he gets to wash his hair and half of his body before the door whooshes open and his Earthlings join him in the shower.

“This is impractical,” Lotor points out.

It doesn’t take more than two rubbing brain cells to know that they’re not there entirely for body hygiene purposes.

Keith smirks. “Don’t worry. We won’t tempt the slippery tiles here.”

He forces Lotor back into the wall — hands bracketing him, bodies flushed together — and tilts his head up.

“That doesn’t mean that there won’t be some heavy petting going on.”

He expects Keith to stand up on his toes and kiss him, but he stands aside, instead, to let Shiro take his place. And this — this is not what he expected. Keith, he knows how to handle — most of the time. But Shiro — Shiro is uncharted territory, and apart from that kiss they shared, everything else is new, unknown, scary.

Everything they did in the past couple of vargas is new and scary, and he suddenly finds himself in close proximity to Shiro, who’s only a head smaller than him, and his eyes zero in on his mouth, swallowing.

“Don’t mind me,” Keith says, entirely too chipper and energetic. “I’ll just be here in the corner washing myself while you get that pent-up frustration out of your systems.”

He understands Shiro’s hesitation, the question in his eyes, but he doesn’t understand why _he_ leans down and kisses him. Shiro’s not a magnet; there shouldn’t be any pull, forcing Lotor towards him. But there he is, _wanting_ to kiss Shiro, claim him and let himself be claimed by the man.

Most probably Keith broke him. Or a very important, functional part of his brain.

At first, it’s just a press of lips that lasts for as long as it takes Shiro’s flesh hand to grasp the back of his head, and then Shiro pushes his whole body flush against Lotor’s, taking the kiss that Lotor surrenders easily and voluntarily.

They’re both panting when they reluctantly end the kiss, hands latched onto each other as if the other would disappear if either lets go.

“That,” — Lotor pants, thumb caressing Shiro’s lower lip, eyes tracing the motion avidly — “was unexpected.”

Shiro grins toothily and dives in for another kiss, less desperate and much more filthy, body like water in his sinuous movements along Lotor’s, the friction between their cocks maddening and _too little_. It’s Keith that brings them back to the present, though, before Lotor throws caution out of the ship and takes Shiro right there and then.

“You’re gonna make each other come, if you continue like that,” he says and it’s all amusement and teasing tones.

He throws them towels to dry themselves, but it’s difficult to do that when Lotor’s hands are unable to touch anything else but Shiro’s suddenly very accessible skin, so it’s Shiro’s job to make them both less wet.

Keith is already splayed on the bed when they return, smirk fresh and tantalizing, and Lotor’s mind flashes back to the moment he breached him — the tightness, the warmth, the moans — and his cock twitches, pre-come leaking.

Shiro plasters himself against his back, and his eyes close at the warmth that suffuses his senses. Thoughts like safe and protection swim in his mind because apparently, if he feels possessive and protective of Keith, then Shiro’s corresponding desires towards him are more than welcome.

Two fingers push his hair over one shoulder, mouth worrying a portion of skin on his other one. His length snuggles in the valley of his ass like a hot rod, branding, and Lotor’s hand covers Shiro’s metal one, squeezing to stop the filthy moan pushing against his teeth.

“How do you want to do this?” Shiro asks, and it’s a fact that no matter if it’s him or Keith, he never presumes to know what they want.

The words sizzle against his neck, teeth nipping here and there. Lotor’s fangs itch.

“I’m fine if you want to fuck me,” he continues, flesh hand making its way down from his stomach, two fingers teasing the base of his cock.

They both shiver at the prospect.

He swallows, but his throat remains resolutely parched and dry, the words grating against it and crumbling into oblivion when he opens his mouth to speak. He maintains Keith’s hungry and attentive gaze, which is why his Earthling crawls on the bed towards the niche that opens into the wall, from where he takes a glass of wine and offers it to Lotor.

His lips press against the rim and Keith’s breath stutters as Lotor invites him to tip the container and let him drink. This time, he knows what he’s doing, especially when Keith’s eyes darken impossibly more at Lotor’s action.

He takes the glass from Keith’s slightly trembling hand, tongue chasing the sweetness from his upper lip and delighting in what the deliberate action does to his paladin.

“You’re such a tease.”

Shiro’s amusement spills behind his ear and he shivers at the feathery kisses he places there.

“I know how we’re doing this.”

“Oh? Does that imply teasing Keith into coming untouched?”

Lotor smirks, sharp and easy. “Tempting, but no. It implies Keith climaxing by my mouth alone and you fucking me.”

They both curse at that, but Keith is the first to spring into action, dragging Lotor down and over him. He needs to balance the glass, though, so he ends up propping himself in one hand, a few drops sloshing over the rim and staining the covers.

Still smirking, he tips the remaining half of the wine over Keith’s torso and stomach, the dark red liquid pooling at the base of Keith’s throat and in his navel. He doesn’t care that most of it ends up on the covers, because his mouth is hungry and searing hot on Keith’s throat, sucking the wine and pulling keening sounds from Keith, his hands keeping Lotor’s hair from being soaked in the sweet liquid.

He descends on his torso, tongue lapping and teeth biting when they reach his nipples.

In the meantime, Shiro prepares him, cold, wet fingers teasing his ring of muscles before they breach him, and Lotor leaves the imprint of his teeth somewhere under Keith’s ribs. Keith voices rather loudly his surprise and pleasure at that, hands tightening in his hair to the point of being painful, but it’s a pain Lotor welcomes, because otherwise he’d climax right then and there.

Sloppily, he cleans Keith’s stomach as best he can what with Shiro’s thorough prepping, driving him crazy with want when he pushes back, searching for more friction and Shiro’s metal hand clamps down on his hips to stop the movement.

A frustrated sound ushers through his teeth, but Shiro’s only response is a breathless chuckle, no doubt being affected by Keith’s look of complete abandon just as he is.

He grasps the base of Keith’s cock before his mouth swallows him whole, because he’s sure his Earthling would climax the moment he’d touch the back of his throat. And as it stands, he made the right decision, if Keith’s curses, filthy moans and straining hips against his hold on them are anything to go by.

“Fuck, Lotor,” Shiro says harshly, body trembling above him. “If you could see how you two look right now.”

He’d like to throw a smartass remark at that, but his mouth is rather busy at the moment. He’d also like to demand Shiro that he fuck him already, because feeling Shiro’s hardness thrusting up his ass and not _in_ it is not such a satisfying sensation as one might think.

“ _Shitshitshit_ , can I fuck you now?”

An intellectual part of Lotor’s brain tells him that Shiro’s not seriously asking him that, it’s just that his brain-to-mouth filter went offline so there’s no account for what gets out of there. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t fire a sarcastic comeback, if Keith didn’t tighten his hands in warning.

Keith groans, and it’s not a result of Lotor’s wicked tongue, currently tracing the angry, pulsing vein on the side of his cock.

“Fuck him already, for fuck’s sake, Shiro!” — he grits out — “It’s not like he’ll be able to tell you that, not without stopping. And he stays right where he is or so help me, I’m gonna cock-block you two for the foreseeable future!”

Lotor huffs into Keith’s groin, not quite able to laugh at Keith’s strangled words and then — _then_ Shiro gets on with the program and enters him, slow, tortuously slow, the friction sending sparks behind his eyelids, pushing moans that compete with Keith’s, his muscles tightening against the intrusion.

Shiro ends up draping himself over Lotor, pants warming the center of his back where his sweaty forehead presses against.

“Lotor,” — the words tremble on his lips, just like his whole body — “please let me in.”

Another strong suck, followed by the scrape of one of his fangs (enough to be felt, but not enough to leave marks) and Keith climaxes in his mouth with a cry out. His body goes lax under his as he tries to swim back from the blissed out head space he’s in, and Lotor couldn’t take his eyes off of Keith if he tried. And there are no regrets or berating thoughts, just deep-seated satisfaction and delight.

He licks the come from his lips, thumbing away at his chin when he leans back to smirk down at Keith, although the man’s eyes stay resolutely close.

“You’ll have to work for that,” he tells Shiro.

The pleasure at the sight of his Earthlings brought completely at his mercy does not compare to _anything._ A sex-induced, treacherous thought whispers to him that he’d rather have this, the vulnerability in sharing pleasure with each other, rather than the universe at his feet.

Then again, doesn’t this count as just that?

Shiro groans — if it’s in pleasure or frustration, he can’t tell — and then his hands tighten on his hips, keeping him in place as he forces his way in. It’s beyond Lotor’s ability to relax his muscles and allow Shiro in, so they both pant and moan as Shiro’s cock gains inch after inch.

But if he’s honest with himself (and it’s easier to be now than at any given time in his past), he _likes_ the torture that is this slow invasion, Shiro’s wet pants and whispered curses, sweaty forehead using his back like an anchor for the shudders that wreck his body once in a while.

At the same time this is the most open and vulnerable he’s ever been and the only thing that scares him even more is the nagging feeling that he won’t be able to return from this.

It takes Shiro another dobash until he’s fully sheathed inside and Lotor pants above Keith, inner muscles spasming in their attempt to accommodate Shiro. Hands come up to comb his hair into a semblance of order and he opens his eyes to be greeted by a smiling Keith, still flushed and sweaty.

“How’re you hangin’ in there?”

“If you’re asking how I’m doing right now,” — the words come out strangled — “I’m just glad he finally managed to get in there. Felt like forever.”

Shiro huffs and swats his hip with his flesh hand. “Smartass.”

His smirk acquires an edge to it. “Wrong person. I’m a _royal_ ass.”

To which Keith releases a hearty laugh, and Shiro joins him, although his has a more breathless quality than Keith’s.

“So I probably should feel honored to get to be inside a royal ass.”

Lotor huffs. He brought that on himself.

“You should,” he agrees, amused.

Keith’s knuckles caress his cheek, a similar smile on his face.

“That’s right, let yourself go. We’ll always catch you.”

The non-sequitur catches Lotor off-guard and he blinks down at his Earthling, unable to parse what he means by that. But then Shiro pulls back and his eyes roll back behind his eyelids, dismissing anything that’s not narrowed down to Shiro and his cock, currently lighting up nerves he’s never felt before.

The raw pleasure he feels at the slow, hard thrusts is unbelievable. He wants more — reach higher than this and one way or another he will get exactly what he wants.

And right now what he wants is for Shiro to wreck him completely.

He pushes back at the same time as Shiro thrusts in and the combined forces pull choked gasps from the both of them, muscles trembling from the onslaught of sensations. His cock leaks profusely and it’s through his sheer will alone that he didn’t come until now. Then Keith’s hand grasps his length and his eyes flutter open in surprise.

He probably meant to help him stave off the orgasm, but with the powerful thrusts Shiro condones and the fact that his cock has become slick with his precome, Keith only manages to speed the process along, the tight hold turning Lotor’s brain to mush and his mouth vocal.

Shiro’s thrusts become sloppy, and it takes him a couple more before he spills himself inside Lotor and Lotor topples over the edge right after, painting Keith’s stomach, torso and throat in white.

It’s their combined strengths that keep Lotor from falling over Keith, because his limbs are uncooperative and unhelpful right now. They manage to gently place him on a clean patch of covers, and he might have expressed something akin to gratitude for their mindfulness, but there’s only an incessant, pleasant buzzing in his ears and not a thought in sight.

He doesn’t know what happens after, only that they combine forces once again to clean him up and tuck him under their covers.

He does remember turning and draping himself over Shiro, with Keith snuggling at his back, before darkness is all that his mind registers.

 

***

When Lotor wakes up, he finds himself tangled in a sea of limbs. He really can’t feel where his legs end or whose arm is securely draped over his ribs; it’s all a convoluted mess. But he does his best to extricate himself from between Shiro’s sturdy form at his back and Keith’s smaller body, who made himself into a half ball, completely plastered to his front.

“No, you don’t,” Keith mutters sleepily, pulling Lotor back.

Both of them tighten their vine-line limbs around him and one hand brushes over Keith’s mark above his hip, pulling out a sharp intake of breath at the sudden rush of memory and sensations.

“Oh,” Keith breathes out, peering up at him. “Does it hurt?”

Lotor closes his eyes and swallows, willing his cock to remain asleep. He shakes his head just as Keith’s thigh moves further up between his legs and a hiss ushers through his teeth accompanied by a glare at the grinning Earthling. Thankfully, he doesn’t move further, but the light press of warm skin and baby hairs don’t help his hardness calm down.

Not that he makes any effort to push Keith’s thigh away, either.

He covers Keith’s hand on the mark, a wordless acknowledgement of the fact that he’s fine with this.

“Is this an elaborate plan to overthrow my power?”

“’Tis an elaborate plan to finally get to cuddle you like you’ve never been cuddled. You look like you need it.”

“And you act like you need it more than me.”

“Exactly! I cuddle Shiro every night. You’re next on my list.”

“ _I’m_ the one cuddling you, if memory serves me right,” Shiro murmurs into Lotor’s nape.

“Because _I_ allow you.”

“Is that list open?” Lotor asks.

Keith cracks one eye open; his face is ridiculous, crunched up and lopsided like it is. Something must have been misplaced in his brain after their fun time if he feels the urge to kiss the man.

“If you’re asking if I’m gonna cuddle others, aliens or not, then the answer is no. You and Shiro are enough for me and you both give me the impression that you won’t share me with anybody else.”

Lotor huffs. “Of course, what’s mine stays mine.”

Shiro stops breathing behind him and Keith freezes in his arms. Now he’s gone and done it. He needs to impose a rule where he forbids himself to have conversations after sex — or after waking up. Or after waking up after sex. Better.

No talking with anyone for at least a varga after that.

“Do you mean it?” Shiro murmurs the words in the skin of his nape.

Is denial still an option?

“Unfortunately, I do.”

Apparently not.

But at least his long-suffering, haughty disposition did not suffer any changes.

He knows that the press of Shiro’s lips has the same shape as Keith’s blinding smile. And he also knows that the sight and feeling of them will stay with him for a very long time.

“Awesome,” Keith says, burrowing his face back into Lotor’s naked chest. “I’m not the sharing type, either.” Then he huffs a laugh. “We complete each other so well it’s not even funny.”

“I’m not a funny person,” Lotor says as if the word alone personally offended him.

Keith chuckles and bites one of Lotor’s pectorals just because he can, which makes Lotor startle and glare down at the mop of unruly hair.

“You just got yourself a needy kid.”

“And a terrestrian octopus,” Lotor says.

Shiro huffs. “In my defense, Keith’s cuddles are contagious.”

“Next thing you’ll tell me is that they’re therapeutic.”

“You have no idea!” Keith quips.

Lotor groans.

**Author's Note:**

> Any insight into how I managed to deliver these three characters to you will be greatly appreciated!  
> [Tumblr](https://nutcracker-shi-tsu.tumblr.com/)


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